Take Care Of Him
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Nardole struggles to carry out River Song's last order. Spoilers for Christmas 2015 and 2016.


Take Care Of Him

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Doctor Who

Copyright: BBC

Look, I'm not good at this.

I was Professor Song's valet. I brought her food trays, ran her errands, carried her bags (heavy ones, too, for a lady who uses fashion spray, but never mind) and kept away people who annoyed her, like the Finance Minister or the Generals. She never trusted me with anything important, and no wonder. Even my mum used to say I was an idiot.

What I'm trying to say is, I hadn't the faintest clue about what to do when the Professor left Darillium.

There we were on the TARDIS with the front doors open, watching her shuttle take off.

There I was, still a bit dizzy and sick after getting my head and body glued back together (Don't ask, okay? Please.), with a big bonus in my pocket. That was nice, but you know, doesn't make up for literally losing your head.

And there was the Doctor, watching that shuttle go. His eyes were like … like … I don't even know.

The last time I saw that look in someone's eyes, it was my older brother when he came back from the Bone Meadows. He was a soldier, my brother. Signed up for King Hydroflax's army the day he turned eighteen. He came back with half his face blown off, replaced by a prosthetic, and in his good eye, there was that look.

I went to vocational school to get away from him, honestly. It scared me, having that much pain around the house.

Told you I'm not good at this.

Anyway, I said to the Doctor, "What's wrong?"

He said: "She's gone."

I said: "But she's coming back, isn't she?"

He rolled his eyes at me. "No, you idiot. She's going to the Library to die. I know this, because the day she died was the day I met her."

So then he went into his room and locked the door.

Honestly, I don't remember much of what came next. It all blurs together. I may have helped myself to Professor Song's liquor stash.

She was … okay, she could be difficult. But Hydroflax used to behead his servants just for oiling his joints incorrectly, and compared to him, the Professor was an angel. She always paid well, and she was the only one who smiled at my jokes. And looking after her was my _job_ – I mean, what's a valet without his boss?

It's not like I had anything else left. I hadn't seen my family for fifty years. Seventy-four if you count Darillium. Hydroflax made all his servants swear to break off contact with their families so they wouldn't be loyal to anyone but him. I don't even know if they're still alive.

Anyway. After a while – I don't know how long, time's funny on the TARDIS – I was sober again, with a blistering hangover, and sane enough to go check my message feed. I thought maybe I could advertise for another job.

I had one new message. From Professor Song.

It said: _Take care of him._

Right. Yeah. Okay. Me, take care of a widowed Time Lord who was the most dangerous person I'd ever met, except maybe the Professor herself. Oh, how I rued the day I first knocked on the TARDIS door.

But, well … it _was_ the last order I'd ever receive from my mistress. I'd sworn to serve her.

Also, the two of them had saved my life.

So, once I was done hyperventilating, I locked the liquor bottles away, found the kitchen, made some sandwiches and a pot of coffee. It took me three goes – the machine kept spitting out orange soda instead – but I managed. I loaded a tray, just like I used to do for the Professor, and took it to the Doctor's room.

"May I come in?" I said.

"No."

"You're sure? Er … I've got sandwiches."

He opened the door just far enough to grab my tray, then slammed it shut.

For the next few … let's just call them "days", shall we? For the next few days, or a lot of them actually, every time I brought a new tray and picked up the old one, I'd find a different man behind the door. It would've been fascinating if it weren't so scary. A real psychotherapist would've had a field day.

His appetite changed too. Sometimes he picked at his food like a mouse, sometimes the plate was so clean you hardly had to wash it. Reminded me of Professor Song, after her trip to Manhattan.

Sometimes he just did what he did the first time.

Sometimes he'd glare at me and say something like, "Still here, are you?" and I'd say, "Yes sir", and he'd make this grumbling sound in the back of his throat.

Sometimes the door would open by itself – I think the TARDIS must've been worried too – and I'd find the Doctor waving his hands and talking to thin air. I'd hear the names "Amelia" or "Rose" or "Susan" or "Sarah Jane", but mostly "River" – Professor Song's given name, the one she never let anyone use. Except him.

He'd smile then. I had no idea a smile could look that sad.

Sometimes I found him lying on top of the bed, still dressed, staring at the ceiling like a deactivated robot.

Sometimes he'd be scuttling around like a swarm of Cybermites, scribbling on a chalkboard or typing on some kind of ancient computer, and he'd drag me over by the arm to show me whatever he was working on. I never understood a word of it, but he might as well have been talking to the walls. Actually, the TARDIS walls would've understood better.

It was during one of those times that I snapped. Because, see, that time I almost understood what he was saying, and it gave me the creeps.

"Memory alteration, sir? What do you want with that?"

He flipped the chalkboard over, so that chalk dust flew all over the place. "D'ye have any idea how many causes of amnesia there are in all of time and space?"

"Er … "

"Course not. Memory worms. Surgery. Drugs. Hypnosis. Telepathy. Viruses. The Great Intelligence with their hacking. Dozens of them. Who knows which one I might encounter next? The brain's a computer. I need backup. I need a USB key for my brain so I won't forget her!"

He broke off, looking sort of surprised he'd said that much. Of course I knew which "her" he was talking about.

"You won't," I said.

"How'd ye know that? How can ye be _sure_? I forgot the last woman I traveled with. Gallifreyan neural block. What if I forget River too?"

He grabbed the front of my jacket and stared at me with his crazy eyes. You try coming up with a clever answer in that position.

"Well, I won't forget," I said. Well, stammered.

He shoved me away like I was infected. "You? You're nobody. You don't count."

Yeah. That's when I snapped.

"Now look, Doctor," I said, "I'm trying to do my job here, and you're making it impossible!"

"Good."

"No, it's not!"

This time _I_ grabbed _him_ by the jacket. I don't mind telling you, it felt great. All those times I wanted to shout at my old masters and didn't? This made up for all of them. What was he gonna do, kill me again?

"Professor Song ordered me to take care of you! How can I do that when you're locked up in here? If she could see you now, she'd be ashamed of you, oh yes! She was the strongest woman I've ever known, and you don't deserve to be her husband!"

He made a move, like he was gonna pounce on me. I shut up. Whenever Hydroflax used to come at somebody like that, their life wasn't worth a quarter-credit.

Then he froze.

After what felt like forever, he suddenly said, "Rory."

"No, it's me. Nardole." I thought, _Oh Gods. Not the talking-to-thin-air phase again._

But then he said, "Rory Williams. River's father. The first time he came with me on the TARDIS, we ran into some vampires. Well, fish-vampires. Well … never mind. We ran past someone who was hurt, and Rory was the only one to check if they'd survive. He was a nurse."

I still had no idea what he was getting at.

"Later we found out the queen of those creatures was kidnapping human girls to force them to breed with her sons. I killed her. And before I did, I asked her, d'ye know why I'm doing this? She didn't. I said, it's because ye don't remember yer victims' names."

Now I got it. Sort of.

"That's the kind of man I've always tried to be," he said. "Someone for whom every life is precious. Even though I can't remember all their names myself … all the people I killed, or couldn't save."

I suppose that's the closest he ever gets to an apology. So I took it.

Then I said, "So where is he now, this Rory Williams?"

"New York. Earth."

"We should visit him." Because, I thought, if anyone was qualified to talk sense into this lunatic, it would be the father-in-law he obviously respected. Besides, shouldn't the man be informed of his daughter's death? Isn't there a protocol for that?

He said, "Can't. It's unstable. Too many time distortions, and not all of them mine, either. I take the TARDIS in, the planet explodes."

"But can't you fix that?" I said.

"If it were only that easy."

I put my hands in my pockets. I do that when I'm thinking. I told you I had a bonus payment from Professor Song in there, didn't I? Anyway, it gave me an idea. I took the thing out and held it up to him. It was a little red stone.

I remember when she gave it to me, just before she left. She must've guessed what I was thinking – I mean, it was pretty, but it just looked like glass – and she said, "Don't worry, I'm not cheating you. In fact, you might even say I'm cheating myself. I must have been tempted to use this countless times … but it's better if I don't. There are some things no amount of wishing can change."

She closed my hands around it really slowly, like she didn't want to let it go.

I said, "Will this help?"

The Doctor's eyes just popped. He took out his sonic screwdriver and scanned the thing from every angle. _"Where did you get this?_ "

"Professor Song gave it to me as my retirement bonus."

"She did what? D'ye have any idea how _powerful_ this is? Ye could buy a private _galaxy_ with the price of this."

"But I don't want one."

What I want, although I couldn't have said it to someone like him, is to not be scared anymore. Not to be that man who let himself get killed and tricked into betraying his mistress. Or that boy who ran away when his brother needed him.

I want to be brave. I want to help.

"Course not. What sane person needs a private galaxy anyway?" He let out a crazy laugh. "Yes! Yes, this crystal will help. In fact, it's exactly what I need! Good man, Nardole!" He clapped me on the back so hard, I almost fell over. "New York, here we come!"

He tugged me out the door and into the console room, grinning all the way.

Well, I'm sure you know the rest. Or if not, you can look it up in any historical database. Keywords: New York, 2016, Grant Gordon alias The Ghost.

Nice chap, Mr. Gordon. His wife, too. She's the one who finally gave us the crystal back, after her husband passed away.

As soon as the Doctor finished that contraption of his, we took the TARDIS and parked it in the year 1948, right in front of one of those primitive human dwellings called "brownstones". The door was painted blue.

He rang the bell, and a man and woman came out. They looked at us, saw the TARDIS, and had a conversation with the Doctor that was too quiet for me to hear.

Then they both cried and hugged him at the same time, and he squirmed away and pulled me over as a distraction, and they shook hands with me and smiled, and Mr. Williams said: "Welcome to the TARDIS," and Ms. Pond said to the Doctor, "Took ye long enough, ye numpty," and I realized she spoke with almost the same accent.

And I can't tell you how relieved I was to finally get the Doctor off my hands.

From now on, I thought, let his family take charge. They'll know what to do.

No such luck. Turns out the two of them had a young son, and traveling with the Doctor would have been too risky. But he promised to keep in touch with them, and I promised to make sure he actually did.

But I won't be here forever. At the rate he carries on, I'll probably die on an exploding starship someday, get turned into a Dalek or trapped in time by a Weeping Angel. Either that, or I'll get too old to run and he'll drop me off somewhere, hopefully non-dangerous, where I can retire in peace and quiet.

Maybe I'll even go back to Mendorax Dellora and look up my brother.

Someday.

So, when that day comes, it'll be up to you. Whoever, whatever you are, he's your responsibility now. Make sure he eats, listen to his stories, stop him when he gets crazy, and keep reminding him he's not alone. That's basically it.

I'm sure there's a lot more things I'm forgetting, or that you know how to do and I don't. But like I said, I'm a valet, not a counselor.

Take care of him. For his wife's sake.

And for me.


End file.
